


Rebirth Of A Scene (Extended Glamhead Lore)

by BaphoNathus



Category: Monster Legends (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Minor Violence, magic shenanigans, teeth injury?, this is an older piece from this year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaphoNathus/pseuds/BaphoNathus
Summary: A (much!) longer fan-rewriting of the bio for Glamhead, which personally left me wanting more.
Kudos: 2





	Rebirth Of A Scene (Extended Glamhead Lore)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [NEW monster in the Metal Myst Maze: Glamhead](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/668650) by Fox. 



> from my tumblr, slightly edited after i spotted a bunch of unpleasant writing choices like two ands in the beginning of a paragraph n a row (as well as other stuff i felt could go better)

It’s been a solid 2 years ever since there was another show ruled for METALBAND in the history of recent gigs and concerts, leaving the Underworld a barren and plain stage for light rock amateur artists and even the most melancholic jazz players. However, regardless of the melody that marked the environment around the dwellers of the wasteland, it still had a sense of “lost edge”, without any more broadcasts of live, heavy music being available. 

And this radio silence from the band members' part was awakened by their latest show at the Deathfest Record Stage. It was allegedly just another death metal performance, however, that day, the music spoke less and the chaos screamed bloody murder. The vocals were replaced by cracking scaffolding and the roaring flames reverberated like it was bass. 

Splattered blood stained the black wooden floors and the audience picked up any falling teeth resulting from the punches between the two screamers: Metalhëad and Metalisha. A show that left the audience howling in excitement, and the ensemble bruised and wasted. By the time their choreography had reached its end, the lucky ones’ VIP tickets weren’t much more than a “take one picture with their unconscious idols” pass. 

However this wasn’t what bothered them. The physical scars healed. Teeth grew back in a matter of days. If the scabs weren’t re-opened, in a week they left without another mark to remember. But the psychological aspect remained. Getting at each other’s throats was something that likely would happen at a show at only a coin-flip chance.

This was something that only helped stir up the rocky relationship that Keithor watched only in nervousness: his guitarist and singer were in knee-deep rivalry that didn’t seem that mild anymore. He’d gotten through harsh times, like being tacked to the ground by Metalhëad every time things went either worse for him or better for Metalisha- who he considered, at this point, more of a competitor than a bandmate. 

And this was something his hide had grown accustomed towards, to a point where he didn’t really feel the pain of an axe blade through his arm or his eardrums quaking under an angry sermon. So the best he could do to solve the “petty drama” as he called it, was to try to reconcile their differences. 

_“So, let’s suppose we were to sign up for a tour tomorrow. We’d surely have to have our own poster. and you both know that the most dramatic it looks for a metal band, the most pumped it gets people to go and watch it. Why don’t you both work together to make one? It sounds like fun.”_

He was met with blank stares and a grunt.   
  
"..."

_“That’s the spirit. Chop, chop!”_

Walking outside of the room, he poured himself a lager with hope. One after another minute passed. The clacking of keyboard keys was as loud as he expected for two monsters who mastered the tremolo. He was on his fifth can when a yell and a cracking sound made him spit it all out, startled. 

**“WE MAY AS WELL JUST DRAW ON THE WALLS WITH OUR FINGERS, YOU TROGLODYTE!”**

And a roar ensued. Droplets of blood flew to the living room and Keithor knew that his plan had been sucked down the drain.

Metalisha looks at him with a deep gash across her forehead and nose and groans behind swollen lips.

_“…I wanted Maguntia.”_

Metalhëad snarls showing his missing, bleeding gaps.

**“…New..Rocker…”**

Beer still dribbled from his mouth. Perhaps that was the sign that, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t bring peaceful cooperation between the keystones of his band. It was like trying to force a cat and a mouse to not end up killed, either one or the other. And if both had razor-sharp teeth and nails. Almost like trying to force away some sort of...instinct.

And so, he felt like he couldn’t do anything anymore towards that. Instead just walked to his room, and left the brawlers at the scene. He wanted to knock himself out cold for the time being, without having to think about the situation. The coldness of the fridge almost matched the one of his senses and logic.

Seven heavy shots of hard cider later, Keithor hazily opened his eyes and saw the window behind him, pitch black. Just as planned. Under his arm, a sobbing Metalisha laid, dressed up in her night robe. Her mouth had settled from the impact, and bandages were hastily placed on top of the wound on her head. He caresses her chin slightly and she jumps a bit. 

_“Kei.”_

_“Ah. You’re here, Lish. Feeling, uh, better?”_

She shakes her head and dries her tears.

_“Nope. Not one bit.”_

_“Eesh…I can understand that. Tough to deal with someone who just wants to destroy things, right?”_

_“Mhm. At this point, I’m not even sure if he knows how to talk things out. He just goes straight for the growling and back-arching. And I have to do what I, well, do. Fight back. That seems like the only way he can understand. But I am starting to not like or tolerate it anymore…”_

_“Ahhh, I feel that. I mean…we could always just find a way to get him to distance himself from the band. Or you. I could try to talk him out of being a brute myself. Without you having to get close to him. I’ll take his punches for you.”_

Her body stiffens and turns to the door. It seems as though the two weren’t alone. Metalhëad watched the two talking blankly. He seemed like he was prowling and ready to lunge- both verbally and physically.

_“AH! Ah, hey there, dude. Yea, we were talking about the fighting situation from earlier, and boy, I think we sh-”_

He grunts and slowly walks away, going to his room. 

**“I got the memo, Four-Arms.”**

The two hear the rustling of gear and unzipping of bags. Whoops. Talked too loud? 

_“…Sorry, Kei.”_

_“…Hnnngh. No issue taken, Lish.”_

A minute passes, another, and from their guitarist’s room comes the troglodyte. Harnessing his guitar on the back and a couple of hefty suitcases, he unhesitantly marches to the front door and leaves. His last gesture ever to his band was a wordless frown. 

_“…so it’s over?”_

_“I…guess so. Hoooooly…I wasn’t expecting him to be so cold.”_

_“Well, if we were in band trouble before for having an unhinged guitarist, now we have NO guitarist! Isn’t that…grand?”_

_“Lish. Look, we have a fanbase. We could always choose one of the most talented ones as our player.”_

_“How will you break it to them? Like, yeah, everyone, turns out one of our leads just quit. We aren’t in any trouble whatsoever. Please help us.”_

_“Thinking about it…yeah.”_

It wasn’t unexpected that Keithor wasn’t feeling well at that moment, not only because of having just woken up in a quasi-hangover state, but because of the tough job of having to digest the circumstances around him. A distraught Metalisha, a band member just having left, he absolutely wasn’t ready to deal with that. His mouth felt dry. Shuffling around, he accommodated his companion on top of the cushion. Water was a must at that moment. She watched him waddle drunkenly to the kitchen. It’d almost be funny to her if she wasn’t at that moment still weeping from stress.

His hand shakes as he pours himself a cup of lukewarm water from a ceramic vase that has been sitting there for days. As he sips it, his eyes drift to the key-holding hooks on a little forgotten area near the door. On one of them, hung a little necklace of rope with an orange pendant. It looked like a small guitar and Keithor’s fatigue was chipped away at by sudden curiosity. 

_“…huh? Never saw that there…how cute.”_

He went towards it and reached his hand out to hold it in between his fingers. The material was cold and shimmered with a gentle gold tone whenever the light of the room hit it. Looked like something one would find in the gift shop of a gig, that would cost no more than half a buck.

_“Lish. Look at this little thing i found.”_

Metalisha’s footsteps soon followed his call, and her teary eyes lit up at the sight.

_“…Aaaaawwwww. It’s so pretty, Kei. Where did you find this?”_

_“Sitting and probably already catching dust on a key holder. You can keep it.”_

She held the pendant and fidgeted with it, admiring the way it seemed to glow while on her hand.

_“Hopefully this can keep the, y’know, band spirit alive inside of you.”_

_“It will. And this is just because I want, more than anything, for this band to keep up. It’s just the sense of companionship that I feel while playing, practicing, laughing at jokes…”_

She held the little guitar on her hand tightly, and brought it to her heart. A single tear dripped from her face and onto her fist.

_“I just don’t want to have to deal with fighting anymore. Whenever I rehearse…I don’t spend weeks learning how to tune or strum to have it all be obsolete. Because in the end it all had boiled down to a bloodbath. I’m sick of it. I want to present, I want you to drum with me…I want to have an audience, Kei. That will hold me up when I fall. And someone to fill in, you know...the guitar. It's just crucial. And also one who won’t want to hit me at a petty disagreement…”_

A dry pop is heard from her hand. She opens her fist and lets out a small squeal, dropping the necklace on the ground. The seemingly illusional glow that Metalisha mentioned had now been proved to be a real, bright emission. It seemed to move on its own as it laid there, soon creating a visible puddle of amber fluid that pooled underneath its twitching form. 

_“…uh, Lish, I don’t think that’s a p-”_

Before he could comment on it, the shimmering mass had started to exponentially increase in size, causing the two to take a step back and watch in silent bewilderment. Dribbling tendrils began to clump up into what seemed to be arms, and wide webbings behind them stretched out to form apparent wings. Soon, the shapes began to take more concrete form and definition, shifting from a translucent orange to a more opaque pinkish and blue hue, from mineral slime to solid skin.

The fingers on its hand began to stretch out as its body got materialized into existence, and the previously featureless head opened the two slits to show its eyes, soon partially obscured from view as long, dark blue hair flowed from the scalp to halt its growth when it finally reached the chin. Its form was soon displayed to be wearing a bright pink and gold-lined vest. 

What was before a small guitar pendant had just turned into a tall, pompous, humanoid monster. It flipped its unkempt hairstyle to the side, and walked proudly towards its beholder, ignoring the loud thumping of its own polished leather shoes, soon kneeling down.

**“Guitar player…you mentioned, miss?”**

_“…Okay. Now…I gotta ask. What, or better…who, are you?”_

**“You can call me Glamhead. Because from what your memories and fixations have whispered to me...you can’t just leave the name trend behind. I’m here to fill in that empty space you’ve been weeping about.”**

“Wait, You were born from that thing i dropped? What?”

**“I was created from your deepest wishes, young lady. Your sorrows and aspirations were all absorbed by that piece of Amber. And I am here to satisfy them.”**

_“…”_

_“…This is, uh...awesome. Really, really awesome. Can't really think of any other thing to say other than this is just...uh, I can’t wait to hear some stuff from you.”_

Even with his nose and face covered by a golden mask of sorts, Glamhead could be sensed to be smiling at the reception he saw from the two, his eyes squinting slightly. From behind his wings, he pulled out a large guitar, and his nails grazed across the strings in anticipation before shredding and forming quick, energetic riffs. They did not have the heavy grime of Metalhëad’s style, however it flooded the two’s hearts with cheerful and rhythmic agitation. 

While watching the show that this mysterious yet courteous stranger had in store for them, Metalisha couldn’t help but have a sense of realization that this night was a turning point for the band’s career. Although an old acquaintance of hers was gone, it had opened the doors for a needed sense of reflection and an opportunity to introduce a new style to her songs. And it was going to stay that way for the foreseeable future. Her, Keithor and Glamhead. The new face of Metalband.


End file.
